


All Is Lost

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU after 6x20, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Angst, M/M, i think, i'm not really good at judging what is angst and what is not, in which i pretend that most of season 6 did not actually happen, it's disgustingly brief i'm sorry about that, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 17:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Everything his brothers worked for; all of His plans that he had laid, all was over because of this man. Because of how he captivated Castiel, drew him in with alluring green eyes and freckles, sturdy human hands and broad shoulders, Castiel was no longer in service first to his Father- no, he worshipped Dean Winchester above all. And that was the moment that Castiel knew with an absolute certainty that he was going to die."</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Is Lost

The day Castiel saw him, all was lost.

 

Everything his brothers worked for; all of His plans that he had laid, all was over because of this man. Because of how he captivated Castiel, drew him in with alluring green eyes and freckles, sturdy human hands and broad shoulders, Castiel was no longer in service first to his Father- no, he worshipped _Dean Winchester_ above all. And that was the moment that Castiel knew with an absolute certainty that he was going to die.

 

It might be gradual, a weakening in his joints, cataracts in his eyes and a grizzled, grey beard, hands calloused and chapped; human, and dying by the Righteous Man’s side. It could be quick and fast, like ripping off a band-aid, a hunter’s wound or even one of his own brothers slipping a sword underneath his ribs. The thought that he would be so far gone that any of these were a possibility was frightening, but when Castiel searched the threads, all the possible futures, he saw none where he did as he was told.

 

There was the one where he died protecting Dean from Lucifer, barely hanging on to any scrap of his Grace and crushed so easily between the hands of a demon; the one where his Grace was ripped out and he was cast to earth with every one of his brothers furiously hunting him, where his body was weak and fragile and so easily torn apart. There was the one where a demon took his ‘newly minted’ (as Dean would say) human soul in exchange for Dean’s life, and the one where he and Dean both died at the hands of a human man, resplendent in his conviction and insanity.

 

Castiel saw others, though, ones where he and Dean lived to an old age together, happy and carefree. In some they hunted together, doing what it was that Dean loved best; sometimes Sam hunted with them, sometimes he was not. And in some- those blessedly simple ones- they had a normal life, perhaps adopted children, a house and jobs. Those were his favourites.

 

Dean himself, though, him Castiel could not grasp. He was crass, hedonistic and arrogant, he was infuriating, he did not care for the world as a whole but for each person inside it as an individual, he used Castiel as a _tool_ but not as a _friend_ \- or perhaps that was what it felt like to be Dean’s friend- and Castiel would do _anything_ for him. It was impossible. Angels were created to love, but not to be _in love_. That was a pleasure reserved for those animals that roamed the Earth; yet he was in love, _he was_ , and it hurt, it was painful.

 

 _That_ was the beginning of the end.

 

~o~

 

Dean was peaceful when he slept, harsh lines softened until you could almost believe that he hadn’t a care in the world, that his brother wasn’t guzzling demon blood like it was Coke, like Michael didn’t want to ride his ass like it was the last ark in the flood, like there wasn’t an Apocalypse looming and a world to save. He certainly didn’t look like the hand that was curled under his pillow held a knife it its loose grip, nor did he look like he had been battling a wraith only three hours earlier.

 

Castiel wasn’t supposed to be here by his side, looking at him from the chair by his small hotel bed. Castiel was supposed to be searching for God, but that wasn’t really working out for him, so here he was, nervously looking on at the sleeping man, hoping he wouldn’t wake up.

 

His stomach was tugging uncomfortably, a sensation that was neither pleasurable nor painful, but simultaneously on the edge of both, and Castiel didn’t know what to make of it. He had been teetering on the periphery of it for a while, and every time he saw Dean it would try and jump, out of his stomach to who knew where.

 

Castiel regarded this feeling as one would something vaguely interesting but not at all important; perhaps like some sort or bug, or the strangely shaped pie Dean had been fascinated by at the last diner they had been to, yet put off at the same time. He got the feeling that if Dean knew about it, he would be yelled at, and that was the one thing he did not want.

 

Speaking of, the man in question was making small snuffling sounds into his pillow, murmuring soft words to an imaginary person. Castiel wished to know who he was dreaming about, what he was doing with them, whether they were lovers, or enemies. A strange sort of jealousy broiled in his stomach as he thought on it, until he was barely restraining himself from checking for himself, delving into Dean’s mind to see for himself.

 

It roiled in his belly, a sea storm encased in stomach lining. It was another feeling he was getting a lot, this horrid sin that ate at him from the inside out. This one he hated with a fiery passion, not just because it meant he felt, truly _felt_ , how wrong his obsession was, but also because it tainted how he felt about Dean, made it something ugly.

 

If there was one thing Castiel did not want, it was something he associated with Dean to be _ugly_.

 

~o~

 

When he hunted, Dean was as a predator, lithe and dangerous. His eyes flashed with a hunger that wasn’t healthy, that no human should feel, a hunger to kill those who killed others. It was not a sin he would ever have to atone for, but a skill that the angels could manipulate him with; yet it was horrible all the same. Castiel didn’t like how he looked while hunting; it felt _wrong_ , to let someone he loved so deeply hurt himself like that.

 

Castiel, however, didn’t have a choice in the matter. It wasn’t like Dean would ever listen to him.

 

So he watched as the man he loved destroyed himself to find vengeance for a life he had never known, a mother he could never have, a father he could never please.

 

Castiel watched, and a little piece of him broke inside.

 

~o~

 

The day Sam threw himself into the Pit was the day Castiel knew that his presence in Dean Winchester’s life would raze both of them until they were the pair that Dean had seen in his trip to the future, until they were merely shades of their former selves, irreparable. It was the day that he knew he could never stay in his life; the day he saw him in the arms of another woman and truly felt happy for him.

 

The day that, as a final parting gift, he pulled Sam Winchester out of the Pit and left him on Earth an empty husk was the same day he knew that whoever he was, it would never be enough to measure up to Dean; it was the day he was so arrogant as to think that he could play God.

 

That was the reason he nearly said yes to Crowley.

 

~o~

 

“Ah, Castiel. Angel of Thursday. Just not your day, is it?” The voice was smooth, the man behind it smoother. Short and yet impossibly tall, the King of Hell stood on Dean’s lawn and corrupted it with his presence.

 

“What are you doing here?” Castiel growled, eyes boring into him like they could smite him where he stood. At the time, he must have thought he could, as arrogant as he had been during that time.

 

“I want to help you, help me, help ourselves,” the demon replied, a riddle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in an expensive British meatsuit.

 

“Speak plain.”

 

“I want to discuss a  simple business transaction, that’s all.”

 

“You want to make a deal.” Blunt and ever to the point, Castiel’s words fell thick upon his tongue, lead and fire and ice, disgusting enough to be even considering it. “With me. I’m an _angel_ , you ass. I don’t have a soul to sell.”

 

Vulgarities, those he had been taught by Dean. He had never sworn before, never known how.  Now he had a full arsenal to use, although most he would rather not.

 

“That’s it, isn’t it? That’s _all_ of it. It’s the souls. It all comes down to the souls in the end, doesn’t it?”

 

“What the Hell are you talking about?” _Hell_. Another vulgarity he would never thought to use. How the mighty had fallen, even those focused on finding their way back up.

 

“I’m talking about Raphael’s head on a pike, I’m talking about happy endings for all of us, with all possible entendres intended. C’mon. Just a chat?”

 

“I have no interest in talking with you.”

 

“Why not? I’m very interesting. C’mon. Hear me out. Five minutes. No obligations. I promise.”

 

Castiel looked back towards Dean as Crowley said, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

 

Looking back, Castiel stared him down again, ready to take his offer, but there was a little voice- tiny- in his gut, that told him _no, don’t_. It said _you’ll regret it, he’s a demon._ It said _we don’t deal with demons, not again._

 

It sounded a lot like Dean.

 

“No,” said Castiel. “I’d rather not.”

 

A glowing anger settled in Crowley’s eyes, but he walked away anyway- not without a snarky, “Your loss,” but at least he was gone, his half-baked plan with him.

 

Castiel walked towards Dean, intent on asking him how, exactly, he thought one would go about killing an archangel.

 

~o~

 

When it was discovered Sam did not have his soul, it was Castiel- as the one who had brought him back- that got the brunt of Dean’s anger. It was Castiel who deserved it, it was Castiel who was _relieved_ to have it.

 

It was Castiel that ached inside that he had done something like this, however inadvertently, to a man he considered his brother.

 

It was Castiel, however, that trekked into Death’s domain to get it back, Castiel that talked with him over pizza as Dean had all those months before, Castiel who was cast under Tessa’s watchful gaze as he completed his task. It was Castiel who threw the ring off over killing a poor girl, as he knew Dean would (he had to be like Dean, even if it would kill his brother, because that was what it was to be human, and that was what Dean wanted him to be like).

 

It was Castiel who got Sam’s soul back, Castiel who returned with Death’s scythe to slay Rafael (“as a thank you for not opening Purgatory,” said Death cryptically over orange juice and bacon), Castiel who repaired the wall every time Sam came a little too close to scratching through.

 

It was Castiel that Dean kissed afterwards, impulsively and hurried and absolutely perfect.

 

~o~

 

His mouth was hot and wet against Cas’s, fingers curling in the hair that used to belong to Jimmy Novak. Cas slanted Dean’s head up, their noses brushing together as he tilted Dean’s face slightly, as he licked into Dean’s mouth and swallowed the moan that rose, unbidden, to the surface.

 

Castiel’s other hand was clutching frantically at Dean’s waist, eyes closed on instinct. It felt- God, it felt perfect, better than anything he had felt yet. A burst of love seared into his chest, hot and insistent, and he broke away from the hunter to let him breathe before diving straight back in to taste more of Dean on his tongue, the whiskey and apples that summed Dean up in Cas’s eyes.

 

“ _Cas_ ,” whispered Dean, almost reverentially, and Cas smiled.

 

“ _Dean_ ,” he whispered back, letting Dean’s head drop to his neck and Dean’s fingers to close around his overcoat.

 

That day, Castiel thought perhaps- maybe- they had won.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Cas/Dean thing, so I'm sorry if I didn't do it justice! It's quick and unbeta'd and also unlike the fanfiction I normally read, so I'm not sure whether or not I did a good job- if you could review for me that would be great! I'll go over it again soon when I'm actually awake, so I'll pick out any spelling errors I have made then.


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